


"What's it Like?"

by commander_cullywully



Series: Cullen x Gwyn DA-Verse [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_cullywully/pseuds/commander_cullywully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's it like? Being with the Inquisitor?" Mia writes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"What's it Like?"

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a cover of Taylor Swift's "You are in love" on repeat while I wrote this, so if that's something you're interested in listening to while you read-- I totally recommend it. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5mOOuIKeYc]

_What’s it like? Being with the Inquisitor,_ Mia writes.

 It's an intrusive question that he’s often received from Orlesian nobility, from his men, and from strangers too. It's one he's either answered with a forced cordial smile or a scowl, because no one truly needed to know. He knows Mia grows impatient with every letter he sends that mentions Gwyn, but it feels foreign to describe being with _anyone_ to his sister.

He looks up at Gwyn-- she’s cleared off the extra chair in his office and reading a book from one of his shelves like she usually does. Her eyes scan the pages of the novel, her lips pursed as she curls her legs underneath her. She doesn’t notice him staring, doesn’t hear him chuckle when he catches her lips curling upward at, what Cullen knows, is one of his favorite parts of the book she’s reading. She’s always done that-- walked into his office on the nights she knows he’s working late and asked which book she should start next. She always stops him before he gives too much of the story away, always handles the book with care as she presses a kiss to his cheeks before settling down in her spot.

His eyes flicker back to the letter, taking a few seconds to mull the answer over in his mind, because he isn't quite sure where to start.

Does he start with the fact that he is constantly mesmerized by her features? That every time she walks into the room, he lets out a breath he never knew he was holding? Or maybe how she looks her most beautiful whether she’s wearing one of his tunics as she stands on her balcony and looks up at the stars or when she’s wearing her armor—leaning down from her horse to give him one last kiss him goodbye.

Perhaps he should mention that she when she laughs, she does so with her entire body? Her head tilts backward and sometimes, if she can't help herself, she doubles over shaking and gasping just to catch her breath. Sometimes, on nights much like this one, he catches her snorting at something in one of his books and she covers her mouth, embarrassed. _Sorry_ , she whispers with a smile, as if she’s disturbed him somehow. The truth is that he’d give anything to hear that laugh on the weeks she’s away, that his office feels emptier without her in that chair-- even if she says nothing at all.

How is he supposed to describe her face in a way that captures her best? Her bright blue eyes that always seem to find him in a crowded room? Though she’s self-conscious about her nose because of a past injury, he adores how it wrinkles when someone tells her the kitchen is serving fish. Her bottom lip is often slightly blistered from the amount of times she tucks it behind her teeth. But, Maker, the shape and feel of her mouth alone could make him a poet. The soft, sweet curve of her lips that Cullen stares at all too often. And the taste of her lips on his is far better than any wine he’s ever tried.

Her smile was one of the first things he had noticed about her. When she first started talking to him in Haven, she had flashed him a wide, toothy grin. Her head tilted to the side and the freckles on her cheeks wrinkled along with the jagged scar that only accentuated her jawline. It took him by surprise and he couldn’t stop the heat that rose to his cheeks. She still gives him that look, among many others, but it’s a smile he won’t soon forget.

He would never tell Mia, but the smile he adores the most is the one she gives him behind closed doors. It’s a subtle look that makes his heart pound-- her eyes peer up at him through thick eyelashes and her lips curl into a wicked smirk. It’s a look that pulls him away from other thoughts, one that stirs something he can’t begin to explain through words. Only touch. It’s a smile that coaxes him to retire early, a smile that makes him feel like nothing else exists outside the walls around them. It’s the smile reserved solely for him and one he keeps with him when she’s gone.

He think about the way he so easily gets lost in her touch. That when she grabs his hand, it feels like prickles of electricity surge from her fingertips to his. Or how, on the nights when his headaches are too much, she nestles his head in her lap-- her fingers gently massaging his temple as she hums above him. He thinks of how he feels stronger in her arms, more at peace when they hold each other. It’s easy to lose track of time when he’s in bed with her-- her body warm against his as she rests her head on his chest. If closes his eyes, he can visualize the rise and fall of her chest, can feel the heat that radiates from her the nights he slips between her thighs.

It’s difficult to draw a comparison to making love to her. She asked him once when they laid on the floor in front of her fireplace well after their moans of bliss had ended. He was still nestled inside of her, her legs still straddling his hips as she looked up at him from his chest.

“Is this what it’s always been like for you?” Her voice was small, a whisper.

“What do you mean?” The light from the fireplace flickered over her face-- her hair splayed over his chest and shoulders, her freckles catching in the hues of orange and yellow.

“Making love...with other women-- was it like this?” she asked, her fingers trace over a scar on his chest.

“No.” And it was the truth. There was a faint smile on her lips. “Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to know…h-how” she blushed, chewing on her lip. He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb traveling over her jawline. “How would you describe making love with me?”

He grinned at her question, entangling her hair in his fingers. She studied him intently, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t think I can,” he said, chuckling.

“Well, try.” He pursed his lips, his hand traveling from the base of her neck, down her spine, to her backside. She smiled at him, a short giggle leaving her lips when he cups a cheek in his hand. She swatted at his chest, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Cullen!”

“Okay. It’s like…” He studied her face, removing his hand from her bottom to brush brown wisps of hair away from her eyes. Maker, she was so beautiful. “Here,” he murmured, pulling one of her hands to his chest and spreading it palm down over his heart. “It’s like this,” he told her. Her lips curled into a smile the longer her hand felt the pounding underneath and the look became contagious as she rolled her hips against him. There was more he could have said-- that every roll of her hips felt like flames lapping around him, every cry of his name like a wave crashing over him-- but as his lips captured hers in a searing kiss, this somehow felt more appropriate.

Looking at her now, Cullen thinks of her compassion. She brings him food every night-- something she’s done since Haven, since she noticed he works so hard that food is often an afterthought. She once prepared an area in the basement of the Haven chantry so the men wouldn’t have to train outside in the crippling snow and dropping temperature. While in Ferelden, he once saw her dismount her horse to talk and play with some children. If she’s still in Skyhold at the time, she helps unload every crate from a caravan delivery. She’s a leader that will talk with the workers in the kitchen, making sure they’re treated well and still receiving payment for their service. She’s a leader that will check every rung of a ladder to ensure its stability. A leader that genuinely wants those she fights alongside to be happy, to feel safe.

And, Maker, she’s funny. Or at least tries to be. She curses without care of what company she’s in, grumbling a half-hearted apology to Josephine when she’s caught in the act. She writes a separate report just for him-- one that’s usually short and filled with facts about the places she passes through. _Do you happen to know how many giants there are in the Emerald Graves? I lost count after fifty, I think. The people who think nugs are fast breeders haven’t been here. Do you think there’s research we can do to stop giants from reproducing so quickly? Ask Leliana. Seriously. P.S. Do not try the chocolates “Dorian” sent you a few days ago. I’ve recently discovered they’re really from Sera. And they’re most certainly not chocolates._ Sometimes, Cullen catches her laughing at her own jokes. At the War table, there’s been more than one occasion in which she’s murmured something under her breath only to burst into a fit of giggles.

One of the most interesting things about her is how much of a survivor she is. Time and time again, he has watched her break down in tears over her uncertainty and self-doubt. _How am I supposed to lead an Inquisition? I’m just a mage. I’m nothing. I’m no one._ Time and time again, she manages to pick herself up (sometimes with Cullen’s coaxing) and push forward. A woman afraid of death and failure that rides out of Skyhold to come face to face with her fears on a daily basis. She’s brave and admirable, and the fact that she often fumbles with her hands out of anxiousness only makes her human to Cullen.

His entire life Cullen had felt inexperienced with relationships. Sex was one thing. He was practiced enough to know what women liked, what made their toes curl. But love? He never dreamed it was possible for himself. Let alone with a woman like her. It crept up on him in small moments he hadn’t expected. Her asking him to train her with a sword, asking if she could sit with him at dinner when he hadn’t planned on attending in the first place. Her holding a bowl of strawberries she’d stolen from Haven’s kitchen as he wiped away the juice of smeared strawberry on her lips. _You can call me Gwyn, you know_. Her smile as she moved her king forward. _We should spend more time together_. Her nervous laugh as she asked to borrow one of his books for the first time one night when neither of them could sleep. _I didn’t realize you had such a library_. Being with her is to be surprised at every turn.

“What?” Gwyn’s peering over the edge of her book, curiosity washing over her face. She closes the book, marking her place with a piece of paper Cullen knows is his most recent letter to her. The rest are stored next to her bed in a small box with a mabari hound engraved on the lid-- a gift he bought for her the last time he passed through Ferelden.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. A smile spreads over Cullen’s face as he picks up his quill and brings it to paper. She’s watching him carefully, her brow arching until he brings himself to his feet and folds the letter with care. He’ll send it in the morning, he tells himself as he approaches Gwyn.

“Time for bed?” she asks before he presses a tender kiss to her lips.

“If you’d like,” he murmurs, pressing another to her neck. He pulls away just enough to see her lips form that wicked smile. Her hands are already tearing away at his clothes and he can’t help but think of the two sentences he’s written to Mia when she presses a hand to his bare chest.

_Her love is like standing in the sun, it washes over you in ways you can’t possibly put into words. But you know it’s good._

_Love, your brother._  


**Author's Note:**

> This was something that came to me at work yesterday & it was one of those things where you just can't write it fast enough because it's just so overwhelming and--- to quote Cullen here, good.


End file.
